


hey, what a beautiful mess this is

by maybesandsomedays



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: "We both run food trucks next to each other and we’re competing somewhat AU", F/M, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, food truck au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybesandsomedays/pseuds/maybesandsomedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons runs a health food truck, and she loves her job--until Leopold Fitz arrives with a food truck of his own and sets it up ten feet away from hers. It's unfair, really, and only natural they should fall into a bit of a rivalry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hey, what a beautiful mess this is

Jemma had been having a great start to her day. She’d woken up and followed her usual morning exercise routine before she left for work, and she’d arrived at her food truck to find one of her regular customers already sitting outside waiting for it to open.

That all changed the moment another food truck pulled into the lot, right across from hers, with only a small space of plaza separating them.

A man opened the window and leaned on the counter, and Jemma marched over to him. “What can I get you?” he asked, and she only allowed herself half a second to enjoy the distinctly Scottish lilt.

“Hi. I’m Jemma Simmons, I run that food truck right there?” She pointed and smiled warmly, and he nodded.

“Fitz. Yeah, I know, I’ve seen you. Never ate there, though—not a salad bloke, myself.” He shrugged.

“Oh, then you know that the people here love me and my food and that I have an exclusive deal with the gym to serve healthy food to their customers.”

“Yeah well, it’s not exclusive anymore, is it? They let me in.”

Jemma could feel her patience wearing thin, due to the fact that this guy was a complete and utter arse, but she was determined to play nice and be the bigger person. “Vegetables are much better for business than greasy junk.”

Fitz snorted. “You actually run a food truck that sells nothing but  _vegetables?_  How do you even manage to stay in business? Greasy junk is the reason food trucks were made, not ridiculous weird green things no one’s ever heard of.”

And that was what set her off.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this! This is  _my_  spot, and no one’s bothered me here for years, and who gave you the right to just waltz in here like you own the place and set up  _ten feet away_! Who do you think you are?!” She was borderline hysterical and being unreasonable, she knew, but she didn’t care, and so she plowed on.

“And what you’re serving! We’re right outside a gym, and I serve good, healthy foods to these people trying to be fit. They don’t need to be tempted by your disgusting…” she paused to read the menu. “Deluxe hamburgers and deep-fried churros and wings and waffles!” She scoffed. “You don’t even have a theme, it’s all just garbage! You’ll burn out in no time.”

She finished and huffed at Fitz, who looked baffled. He waited a moment before speaking. “I was told this was a great place to set up my truck—which has a theme of  _deliciousness_ , by the way. So, here I am.”

“Do you have to be here? Right here? Really?”

The confused look hadn’t left Fitz’s face. “Well, I…I paid for the spot? So…yes?”

She glared at him and turned on her heel, back to her own truck.

* * *

She counted each customer she has that day, and at closing time she called over to Fitz, “I had six hundred and fifty customers today. Record high.” She smirked proudly, gloating in his direction.

“I had six seventy-five,” he answered casually, not glancing up from counting money. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped and she was pretty sure she saw red, and he finished counting by tapping the bundle on the counter to even out the bills and looked up at her and grinned.

She texted her best friend Skye that night.

_I have a nemesis._

Skye’s answer was immediate:  _no one uses words like “nemesis” simmons_

Skye:  _so what’d this person do to deserve the wrath of jemma simmons_

Jemma:  _He set up a truck of garbage food right next to mine. He’s my nemesis._

Skye:  _is he hot_

Skye:  _if he’s hot just make out with him problem solved_

Jemma sighed and set her phone down, dreading going into work tomorrow only to see  _him_  again.

* * *

And with that began an intense rivalry, each tallying up the number of customers and the amount of money made, and the loser owned the winner a cup of tea from the good tea shop they both passed on their way to work. Some days he won, some days she did. After a few months, they had settled into a routine and both were enjoying themselves immensely.

“Morning, Simmons,” he called cheerfully from his truck when she arrived, handing over her tea, and she took it gratefully and returned the greeting as she entered her own truck.

Fitz waited until she was inside, then rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and leaned casually against the counter. “So,” he began, “I was thinking maybe we ought to make this a bit more interesting.”

Jemma’s interest piqued. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we switch trucks for the next week, until the end of the fiscal month. See who makes the most that way, not knowing how to run the other’s truck and all.”

“And the winner gets the loser’s profit for that week!” she added excitedly. There was no way she’d lose—Fitz couldn’t deal with healthy foods if his life depended on it. He thought salads consisted of chicken surrounded by decorative lettuce.

“Sure,” Fitz agreed. “So you in?”

“I’m in.”

* * *

The next day was a Monday, and so their bet set off.

“Simmons?” Fitz called five minutes later, when he was serving his first customer of the day. “Simmons what’s an artichoke?”

“Guess you should have studied your vegetables,” she yelled back, rattling a basket of fries. “Your mistake.”

Fifteen minutes in—”Fitz the grill won’t turn on!”

“Guess you should have studied how to fix a grill,” he snarked back at her, and she sighed. “Your mistake.”

* * *

“Today’s the end of the week,” Fitz said in greeting that morning. As they met on the sidewalk right before they parted ways to their respective trucks, he handed her a tea that he really didn’t have to buy, considering their usual bet was off for the week of their big bet, but he did it anyway. She couldn’t really say she knew why, but she got tea, so she wasn’t going to stop him.

“I’m still going to win,” she informed him confidently, and then they were each at their windows, staring at each other as usual. “So Fitz. Would you like to come to my place tonight to tally everything up together? Loser also buys dinner.”

His smile was probably brighter than the sun, and she couldn’t help but return it. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds fantastic.”

“See you tonight.”

* * *

Fitz arrived at Jemma’s that night a half an hour late, which was earlier than she had anticipated. “Good evening, Simmons,” he said. “I brought snacks,” he added, holding up a bag of pretzels.

She rolled her eyes. “I have beer and sriracha and gluten-free biscuits.”

“Beer and pretzels. Perfect for winning a bet.” He entered the apartment and they both sat on her couch. “How are we doing this?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could order the food first, split the bill and the loser pays back the winner’s half later. And then we’ll count up our totals together and reveal them.”

Ten minutes of bickering and going through every take-out menu Jemma had—”Christ, Simmons, these are all  _healthy_! Some of these places don’t even exist anymore!”—finally brought them to pizza, the meat lover’s special on Fitz’s half, and pineapple on Jemma’s.

“Ready to have your truck back?” Fitz asked. “You must miss all those vegetables. I’m, uh, I’m pretty sure they miss you too.” He looked at her shyly, unsure of what to say.

“Absolutely. It’s completely unscientific, but I think the oils and grease are seeping into my body through the air. It’ll be nice to be clean again.” She took a bite of her pizza. “What about you? You must be excited to get  _away_  from my food.”

“I never want to see lettuce again as long as I live.” He crossed his heart with the hand holding his food and she laughed a little despite herself. He looked at her, pleasantly surprised, and laughed back at her, thrilled he’d made her laughter happen.

Fitz then pulled three pretzels out of the bag and pressed them onto his pizza. Jemma scrunched up her face in disgust as he took a bite, and he glanced at her when he noticed her face. “What?” he asked through a mouthful of food.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s delicious.”

Rolling her eyes, Jemma set down her plate, wiped her hands with a napkin, and took a sip of her beer. “Anyway. Are you ready?”

“Mm-hmm.” Fitz nodded, and Jemma set a piece of paper and a pen on the couch next to him.

“Write down your total customers and profit and we’ll give it to each other on the count of three.” They each did so, and Jemma clutched her paper so tight her knuckles turned white. “Ready? One…two…three.”

He handed his over immediately and she passed hers over slower, almost unwilling to give it up. And when she did, she simply stared at it.

She had lost.

By  _one dollar_.

“This isn’t possible,” she mumbled, at the same time Fitz practically jumped in the air and whooped. “No! There has to be some sort of mistake.”

“No mistake. I win. You lose.”

“We should do a recount, or a do-over because  _one dollar_  is a ridiculous amount—”

He put his hand on her shoulder and pretended to be serious for a moment, looking directly into her eyes. She stared back, suddenly feeling a weird swoop in her stomach.

“Simmons.” He spoke slowly, in a deep, calming voice. “It’s over. I won. No recounts, no do-overs. This is it.”

She kissed him.

She didn’t really know why. Later she would blame it on any number of factors: the beer, the spirit of competition, to shut him up, to make herself feel better about losing, the fact that his eyes were so beautiful and so very blue. But they all chalked up to the fact that she desperately wanted to kiss him.

He responded instantly and excitedly, deepening it, and she pressed up against him and brought her arms up behind his neck, his hands placed firmly on her hips and she found herself wishing he would go down a bit further.

She tugged him down gently onto the couch, and he gladly obliged, both of them falling back so that she lay beneath him, and they both laughed as they fell.

Fitz pulled just far enough away to talk, his lips still almost brushing hers. “Are you sure you want to do this, Jemma?”

She nodded immediately. “I’m sure. I want to if you do.”

He responded by kissing her again.

* * *

The next day at work, they didn’t speak of it. They didn’t speak at all. She handed over her money and he gave her a tea and they went to their own trucks for the first time in a week.

It wasn’t until the end of the day, when they had packed up and met in the courtyard between their trucks as they walked out, that they finally spoke just before they were about to part.

And when they spoke, they did it at the same time.

“Thank you for last night,” Fitz said.

“That was a…a one-time thing, right?” Jemma asked.

They looked at each other for a beat before Fitz continued it. “I—um—I don’t know? It could be? Or we could, you know, we could keep going? More sex? If you want? Out…somewhere else…” He cringed at how stupid he sounded. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry, but I—I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We work…well, near each other, and it would inevitably end in disaster and then—”

“What if it didn’t end in disaster?”

“Fitz, last night was great. And the sex was fantastic. But I don’t think dating is a good idea. I’m sorry.”

She took his hand, squeezed it, and walked away.

* * *

 Jemma came the next morning expecting awkwardness or Fitz being mad. Instead, he greeted her the same as he always did and handed over her tea and they proceeded as normal. She made a mental note to buy him one the next day.

It seemed as though their night together could pass without incident, and as the days went by, she was starting to think maybe both of them could forget it if enough time passed. Perhaps he already had.

Her hypothesis was proven incorrect when a tiny pink plus sign stared back at her.

* * *

Jemma waited for the opportune moment to tell Fitz the news: right when she saw customers coming, so he’d be focused on it all day instead of his work and therefore he’d be so distracted that she would win for the day.

Just as people began to round the corner, she yelled over, “Hey, Fitz! Guess what!” and he turned around while kneading pizza dough, and it was all she could do not to think of how those same hands had felt when they were paying that amount of attention to her body.

“What, you’re gonna win today?” There was a glint in his eye and not even the slightest hint of maliciousness and he sounded more amused than anything.

“Damn right I am. Oh, and also, Fitz? I’m pregnant!”

She prided herself on her impeccable timing when customers showed up at both of their windows immediately following her statement. Fitz stared at her, dumbstruck, taking orders with his eyes still trained on her. Meanwhile, a group of women in workout gear at Jemma’s truck who had overheard started congratulating her.

“Are you having the grease food truck guy’s baby?” one woman asked. “You two always seemed like you hated each other!”

 _Maybe not so much after all._  ”Yeah, it’s his. It was just one night,” Jemma answered. “But that was enough.”

“Well, congratulations on the baby. They’re wonderful,” added another woman, resting her hand on her own heavily pregnant stomach.

“Thanks.” Jemma smiled and tried to follow suit, touching her fingers lightly to her abdomen. It didn’t feel like anything yet. It just didn’t  _feel_  like she was touching the place where her future child currently resided.

The group of women left, and she carried on about her day, and she was so lost in thought about the tiny thing inside her that she forgot to even count the day’s customers, which had become almost second nature ever since the day Fitz showed up. She quickly calculated her average number of customers considering the day of the week and time of year and prepared that to tell Fitz.

At the end of the day, she counted her money and sashayed over to Fitz’s truck, walking up the stairs to him, planning on saying her total as usual and acting like nothing was any different just to drive him crazy. “So. Six—” Without warning, she paled and covered her mouth before dashing out of the truck and promptly throwing up on the grass.

Fitz hurried out after her and placed his hands on her back. “Are you okay?”

As soon as she was able to take a long enough pause to speak, she wheezed out, “Damn it, Fitz, what are you cooking in there?”

He passed her a bottle of water he’d gone back in to grab and she rinsed out her mouth and took a swig, then cautiously stood with Fitz’s help. “Um—the last thing I made was a deep-fried Twinkie?”

“Well, the baby doesn’t like it.” She wrinkled her nose. “And neither do I.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly, putting his arm around her, and she leaned on him and he helped her over to a bench to sit down. She still looked queasy, and that worried him. “But anyway, the whole baby thing…”

“Yeah. A baby. Look, I understand if you hate me and want nothing to do with it, but I thought you should know, and I wouldn’t exactly be able to keep it from you anyway, seeing you every day…”

“Hate you? Why would I hate you?”

She furrowed her brow at him in confusion. “You’ve always hated me, from the first day! And now we’re rivals and oh, god, the person you hate is having your baby—”

“I never hated you. I just didn’t know how to talk to you.”

Jemma looked at him incredulously and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I was kind of an arsehole that first day. And then the friendly competition started and I thought that meant we were friends.” He paused. “Oh, and uh, yeah I want the baby. I mean, if you’ll let me, that is?” His face was full of hope and wonder and happiness and she wasn’t sure she could have said no to that face even if she’d wanted to.

She smiled at him. “I’d like that. And for us to be friends.”

He grinned then, big and wide and easy and toothily and still happier than she’d ever seen him, and he gazed at her like she had singlehandedly put all the stars in the sky.

“Yeah. Friends.”

* * *

“Do you think it might be easier if we lived together?”

She said it one night as they laid in bed together, her curled up against his side and head on his chest. They had taken to staying at each other’s places, sleeping in the same bed but without sex.

Fitz startled. “I—um—I—er—”

“It’s perfectly okay if you don’t want to. I just wonder if it might be easier for the baby.”

“No—no, no, Jemma, I’d…I’d like that. A lot.” He grinned stupidly at her and placed his hand on the tiny beginnings of her bump, and she smiled and snuggled closer into him.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I think you’ve become my best friend in the world.”

“I think you’ve become more than that.” He didn’t understand why he admitted to it. But it was out there, now. “I don’t—I just wanted you to know? I mean if you don’t that’s fine, I just—I’m sorry?”

A smile grew on her face. “Fitz. It’s okay. And I…I don’t know yet if I feel the same, but we can try it out if you’d like?”

At those words, his grin from earlier returned, bigger and brighter, looking like it just might split his face in half if he let it. “Yeah, yeah, that’d be, uh, that’d be great.”

Getting an idea, she drew herself up on her elbows and tentatively kissed him, just a small, exploratory peck, and when she got the response she’d hoped for, she swung her legs over and straddled him for the first time since the night they’d made their child.

* * *

 Jemma rubbed her stomach in thought. “Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s closed for the night, but do you think you could open up your truck for me?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Why?”

“I want one of your deep-fried Oreos.”

Fitz laughed. “You want a deep-fried Oreo? I thought they were greasy and unhealthy and you didn’t know why anyone would ever eat them.”

She glared at him. “They are. And I’m not the one who wants them, your baby is.”

“Oh, just because she has great taste and wants my food means she’s my baby?”

“Well, with this appetite, she’s certainly not mine.”

Fitz grinned. “Well, come on. Let’s go get you and our baby something to eat.”

And so they walked back to work, the way they did every morning, chatting easily the entire time, the only difference being that instead of the usual bright early morning sun, they had the atmosphere of dusk early enough to turn on the streetlights, but not late enough yet to be considered dark.

He opened up the truck with a flourish and bowed, holding out his hand to her and kissing hers when she offered it. “Come _,_ Miss Simmons. Fine dining awaits.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately and he kept his hold of her hand and led her into the truck and started flipping switches and turning knobs and dials to fire up the fryer.

As he waited for the oil to heat up, he turned around to face her, his hands behind him braced on the edge of the counter. “One deep-fried Oreo, coming right up. Still can’t believe you want this, honestly.”

Jemma sighed. “Neither can I. And I’ll hopefully never eat one again. But it’s a stupid pregnancy craving and unfortunately, I won’t be happy until I eat that nasty mess.”

Fitz presented her the Oreo on a paper plate with plastic cutlery. “ _Bon_   _appetite_.”

She took a bite and grimaced. “This is absolutely bloody disgusting and I don’t know how you even have customers buying this thing, but it’s exactly what I want, and I hate you and I hate this baby making me want this.”

She kept eating, lost in thought for a moment, but then she noticed Fitz gazing at her with a fond look on his face, a tiny smile and his eyes soft and warm and happy. “What?”

He flushed bright red when he realized she’d caught him looking at her and he stared down at the ground, refusing to meet her eyes. “You’re just pretty, is all.”

Jemma suddenly realized just how much she cared about the man standing next to her. This man who bought her tea even when their tea bet was off, who moved into her apartment and was going to help her raise a baby, who would open up his food truck and make a deep-fried Oreo at five-thirty at night just because she asked him to, and was happy to do it.

“I love you,” she blurted out.

Fitz frowned at her in confusion. “What?”

She realized she’d said it through a mouthful of Oreo and swallowed before saying it again. “I love you, Fitz.”

He blinked at her, taken aback. “You do?” She nodded. “Are you sure it’s not just the baby making you say that?”

She almost wanted to laugh at him checking in disbelief, but she only shook her head. “It’s not the baby. I do.”

“You really—me too, by the way. Love. I. You. I love you!”

This time she did laugh, and he kissed her, and she thought it might be her favorite kiss of all the ones they’d shared.

But after a moment, Fitz pulled away, scrunching up his face. “Wow. You’re right. That  _is_ disgusting. Why does anyone buy that from me?”

“Can you lock up now?”

“Already? You haven’t finished yet.”

“I’m done. I want to go home and have sex with the man I love.”

Fitz locked up faster than Jemma had ever seen him do it.

* * *

Jemma groaned, reaching behind her and realizing that after nine months, it had finally happened: the strings on her apron no longer tied behind her back. It had been a tight fit recently, stretching tautly over her belly, but it had met its end. She’d hoped she would be able to get all the way through the pregnancy with it.

She turned her back to Fitz and asked him to try, but he couldn’t get it either. “Sorry Jem,” he said as she let out a string of wails and a few curse words that she wished her baby couldn’t hear.

Fitz leaned down so that he was at eye level with her stomach, putting his hand on it. “Mummy didn’t mean those words,” he said to it. “But you’re getting very big and so you should come out soon so she can get back to work.” The baby kicked where his hand was and Jemma rolled her eyes, looking down at the bump with a hint of annoyance that she couldn’t wear her apron.

Fitz straightened up and said, “So…if your apron doesn’t fit anymore, maybe you ought to consider starting your maternity leave now?” Jemma’s eyes flashed up to meet his, and he continued, “Your due date’s in a week anyway, and it would be better and safer to have you at home resting before she gets here.”

Jemma grimaced at the thought of being stuck at home with nothing to do, but reluctantly agreed. Fitz sighed in relief and kissed her hair. “I’ll call Trip and Skye and tell them their temporary takeover starts today.” They would start out with both of them in Jemma’s truck, to learn the ropes, and when the baby was born Skye would take over control of Fitz’s. She was oddly excited about it.

“I’m staying the rest of the day though,” she countered. “I won’t work, but I’m not going home yet today.”

* * *

“Fitz’s Awesome Food Truck, how can I help you?”

“The baby’s coming.”

She laughed as she heard panicking coming from the other end of the line. “Skye! Trip! Baby! I—uh—Skye, you gotta take over! Trip, you got Jemma’s, okay—” Some crashing and some cheers from Skye, and Fitz yelled “ _Baby!_  Jemma, hang on, I’m coming!” The line went dead, leaving Jemma laughing through a contraction.

Fitz arrived in two minutes less than it usually took him to get home, and she knew he’d been so excited and freaked out that he’d sped much faster than usual.

“Baby, Jemma, baby!” he yelled.

“Fitz, you’re more panicked than I am and I’m the one having the baby.”

“Exactly, you’re having a baby!”

She rolled her eyes and kissed him to calm him down, only stopping when another contraction hit, which made Fitz’s eyes go wide. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Amelia Rose Fitzsimmons’s first cry happened at the same moment her father started sobbing with joy at her birth.

Jemma teased him through her own tears, and she clutched the tiny, crying infant wrapped in a pink blanket to her chest as soon as they let her.

“She came out of you,” Fitz said incredulously.

Jemma let out a laugh. “Yes, Fitz, that’s how it works. You saw it happen.”

“But she was in you and now she’s here and—” His voice broke and he stopped. “She’s amazing, Jem. You’re amazing.”

“She is,” Jemma agreed. “Want to hold her, Dad?”

Fitz drew in a breath and he looked at her, shocked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. You get to hold your daughter, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.”

Jemma slowly and carefully passed Amy over to Fitz, and her arms immediately felt empty and  _wrong_  without Amy in them, but it was worth it to see the two of them together.

Fitz looked down at Amy’s now-sleeping face with a sense of love and infinite wonder and fascination, more intense even than the similar look that he gave Jemma, and Jemma felt a wave of affection wash over her, for these two people, this one person she’d hated passionately who turned out to be pretty great after all, and this other new person who wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for that hatred and then it morphing into love.

“Hi, baby girl,” Fitz whispered hoarsely. “I’m your dad.”

* * *

 

“Daddy, I want to have a food truck too!”

Fitz grinned and hoisted six-year-old Amy onto his lap. “Maybe someday, baby girl.”

She pouted. “Why can’t I have one now?”

“You could sell lemonade! A lot of kids like to do that,” Jemma interjected. “I had one myself when I was a little girl. I calculated the chemical formula and recipe for the perfect pitcher of lemonade.” She looks wistfully off into the distance. “It’s a secret recipe, of course, but you can have it.”

Amy jumped off Fitz’s lap and ran over to Jemma. “Oh, please, Mummy, please?”

Jemma started making notes on a pad of paper. “And maybe your father could build you a stand?”

“Done. Mini lemonade food truck, on its way.”

Amy threw her arms around Fitz. “Thank you, Daddy!”

Fitz managed to build a wooden food truck—complete with a minifridge—to just the right size for Amy, and it was set up exactly in the middle of her parents’ trucks, five feet from either one.

**Author's Note:**

> You can blame this AU entirely on Jess (ohfiitz/leopolds). It's partly inspired by an AU prompt on Tumblr and then a part of the movie What to Expect When You're Expecting, which I've never seen but she has, so special thanks go to her for the prompt and for motivating and inspiring me to finish it and helping me along in the process. So naturally, it is of course dedicated to her and her beautiful face. <3
> 
> Title comes from "A Beautiful Mess" by Jason Mraz.
> 
> Also, I wrote this in under a week, which is the fastest I've ever written anything. So, go me.


End file.
